


Plausible Deniability

by orphan_account



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, aka no one is dead au, can you tell i like italics, except hanna, superhero/villain au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It was stupid, really. This whole thing was so, so, stupid. There weren’t many ways to ask your sworn enemy out for coffee, but somehow she could just tell she was doing it wrong.





	Plausible Deniability

**Author's Note:**

> Don't get me wrong, I love angst. But, instead of writing a depressing continuation of s5, I decided to write a completely ridiculous AU in which no one is dead and nothing hurts. :)

Alright, so _maybe_ she’d had better ideas than this. _Maybe,_ once or twice, she’d thought a little bit more before doing something this drastic. _Maybe_ she was really going to regret this.

And by _maybe,_ she meant _absolutely._

When had she gotten this messy? It was almost unbelievable how unlike herself she was acting right now. Her work was always clean- thought through from every angle. She was never caught, because there was never any trace that she was there at all. She was an artist. She worked her suggestive smirking and empty promises onto the gorgeous canvas of her master plan. A plan that involved plenty of illegal activity and would only ever benefit her in the end. Sure, she took a great deal of unnecessary precautions to ensure she’d get what she wanted, but in the end it was all for a good cause. Root was going to find out who killed Hanna Frey, even if the detectives on her case had declared it a dead end. 

She was going to get justice. So what if she had to rob a couple banks and terrorize a few civilians to get it done?

And that’s why it felt so surreal to be standing there, on the damp beige carpet of a prepaid motel room, with the only other person who knew the brushstrokes of her finished painting by heart. The only other person who even knew she _existed._ She was tied to a chair, of course. The two of them weren’t very friendly. Actually, they weren’t even on decent terms. The only word Root could use to accurately describe their relationship would be “enemies.” Or, you know, anything else that gave off a “willing to kill one another at any opportunity” kind of vibe.

The other woman’s hair was tied back in a disheveled ponytail, as it usually was. A single strand fell in front of her face while the rest was only lightly frayed. As was the cost of being a superhero, Root mused. Your hair just couldn’t look as good as you’d like it to. She crossed her arms and propped herself up against the wall, careful not to wake the unconscious woman. Tied to a chair as she was, Root knew Sameen Shaw was perfectly capable of ridding herself of the restraints and grabbing her by the neck, roughly shoving her into the wall, and…

…Um, knocking her out, probably. That’s definitely where that thought was going. 

Root shook her head, trying unsuccessfully to rid herself of the thought. She needed to focus on what she was doing. But that was proving to be kind of difficult, as she really didn’t have the slightest idea what it was that she was doing. The very prospect of Root being spontaneous was unsettling. She’d always had things mapped out ahead of time. _Always._

Root was smart. When she chose to make bank from dealing drugs every now and then, the goods were never hers and she always had a fresh new alias for identification purposes. She was never nervous. Never caught off guard. Although, that might have been the effect of the firearm resting comfortably between the material of her jeans and the inside of her leather jacket. It wasn’t hers, of course. It just so happened to be registered to one of her “business partners.” Later, she’d arrange their deaths to look like a deal gone wrong. (That one had been very carefully planned out. It was one of her greatest ideas, and she was reasonably proud of her handiwork.) 

Sometimes she’d promise to wire money to someone’s account in return for their services in a field she wasn’t proficient in, like interrogation. This wasn’t to say she was half bad herself, but Root found it difficult to leave her unfortunate companion alive after the fact. However, once the deed was done, Root always ended up with both the information and the cash. With all the stunts Root pulled, it was no wonder how nobody ever managed to catch up to her.

So if some deity were to exist out there, they were to blame for the mere existence of Sameen Shaw.

She was always just two steps behind Root. The brave and mighty hero to balance out Root’s malicious supervillain tendencies. It was a classic. The horrible villain is out striking fear in people’s hearts when the hero jumps in and saves the day. Root always resented her for that. It was all she ever heard. “The woman in the suit!” People cried. She was famous. Little kids looked up to her. She was on the cover of every newspaper, and the entire city seemed completely smitten with her at any given moment. And why wouldn’t they be? Their hero was just the spitting image of _perfection._ It left a bad taste in Root’s mouth. But once the two met, Root forgot every reason she’d had for hating the woman in the suit.

She’d lined them up, even. A list on a sheet of college-ruled paper, numbered from one to fifty, titled “Reasons to Hate Sameen Shaw”. Every last word was written in sparkly purple gel pen, and she would read it to herself whenever she was feeling down. Now, though, that sheet of paper sat crumpled at the bottom of her trash bin. Neither of them were anything like their tropes, she’d discovered. Sure, Shaw might have been the hero of the story, but she was a _person._ She ate and slept and played with her dog and rolled her eyes at Root’s almost constant innuendos. Since when had a silver screen superhero been so reluctant to leave her apartment?

She guessed she still qualified as Shaw’s arch-nemesis, though. Maybe. The woman in the suit still spent her time stopping Root’s illegal activities in their tracks, but things just weren’t the same. _(“So, Sam, when are we bringing out the handcuffs? I’m up for a fun night.”)_ Once, _once,_ she’d seen Shaw smile at her. She swore she wasn’t making it up.

But it’s not like they were friends, obviously. They’d shot each other multiple times. Sabotaged plans. Aimed grenade launchers at each other’s respective safe houses. Well, okay, that one was all Root. Shaw hadn’t gotten her back for it yet. Point is, if all you did was read the story, you would believe that the two of them were just your generic hero/villain duo. On the surface, everything was either black or white. But if you took the time to read between the lines, the colors faded to shades of gray.

Root was, however, disappointed every time Shaw knocked her out. That sent a pretty clear message, and no matter how hard she squinted she couldn’t see any gray involved. She supposed there was something to be said for the lack of police involvement in their eternal feud, but waking up in dirty alleyways was getting both old and embarrassing. And, well, she couldn’t exactly slip Shaw an e-mail. So she did the next best thing. Or maybe the second best thing. Or…

Okay, so maybe there were plenty of better options than kidnapping New York City’s star superhero. Actually, now that she thought about it, kidnapping Shaw might be the worst possible way she could’ve handled the situation. But now it was three in the morning and she could barely see her own black-painted fingernails through the near-darkness. She probably couldn’t have located a shadier motel if she’d tried. The lights were busted, the room smelled of mildew, and the air felt heavy and palpable. It was the perfect place to stage a kidnapping. Was it the best place to _actually_ kidnap someone? No, not really. But honestly, Root had already shamed herself enough for her other bad decisions tonight. If she bothered with that one too, it would be three minutes she’d never get back.

Root pulled away from the wall. Slowly. Carefully. She crept over the once-white carpet as if it were a minefield, avoiding the sections that creaked with pressure. Shaw’s eyelids twitched. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrowed, dainty hands just beginning to realize they were restrained- 

_Focus._ Root gave up any attempt at stealth in her final step towards the back of Shaw’s chair. After all, who would bother with being quiet when a psychopathic and highly dangerous superhero was less than three feet away from them? She paid in full for her mistake. The floor squeaked under her high heeled boots. If Shaw wasn’t awake before, she definitely was now.

“What the hell?” She growled. She tugged at the ropes binding her wrists to the chair, even going as far as to try freeing herself with her teeth. It was to no avail.

Root watched her struggle for a moment, desperately trying to keep her thoughts in check. The petite woman really was much more aggressive up close, she noted. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. 

“Who’s there?” Shaw snapped, trying in vain to look behind her. “I _know_ you’re behind me, jackass.” 

At first she’d debated waiting a little longer, maybe figuring out what exactly she was planning on doing before she came face-to-face with the woman of her dreams. Nightmares. What? 

Root shook her head silently. Anyway. At first she’d debated waiting a little longer, but decided soon enough that everything had collectively gone to shit the minute she’d chloroformed New York City’s idol. Why bother trying to make sense of anything now?

In any case, she didn’t allow herself time to think before stepping out from behind the chair. She allowed herself a split second to rehearse what she would say. _Hey, darlin’._ No. _Hey there sweetheart._ Also no. Root didn’t trust herself enough to nail that line without stuttering. _Hey, sweetie._ Perfect. Mildly off-putting and yet short enough for her scatterbrained state. She whispered it under her breath a couple times, just for good measure.

“Hey, sweetie. Hey, sweetie. Hey-”

And suddenly she felt like a deer trapped in the headlights. She had very quickly ended up on the receiving end of Shaw’s smoldering glare. Except it wasn’t the ferocity of her expression that was interrupting Root’s train of thought. Root was vaguely aware that she had completely frozen in the superhero’s wake, but she was too transfixed by the molten chocolate color of her eyes to care. They were much prettier up close, she thought. In fact, the sheer captivation Shaw’s eyes inspired was motivation in itself. She’d needed a thesaurus for quite some time- a necessity, obviously- but this situation gave her millions of other plausible uses for it. For one, she was running out of adjectives to describe Shaw with. Because… oh. Right. She- uh, she was supposed to be doing something other than ogling the tied-up superhero. Root coughed into her fist and smoothed down her pencil skirt. What was she going to say again? Hey… sneaky? That wasn’t it. 

“Alright, weirdo, had enough staring into my soul for one night?” The superhero grimaced, but she was losing her edge. She looked almost… Lethargic. And that was one of the few adjectives Root would have never used to describe her.

Root shut her eyes. _Focus. Focus, focus, focus._ She ran lines of code through her head, comforting herself with one of her favorite algorithms. Maybe Shaw was losing her edge, but she couldn’t afford to make the same mistake. Not now, not _ever._

A lazy grin crept onto her face as she leaned closer to Shaw. “Long day, sweetie?” She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind the Persian superhero’s ear.

A flicker of emotion was visible in Shaw’s expression, but it was gone so soon that she could’ve just as likely imagined it. “Don’t you have any concept of personal space?” She growled.

Root smiled faintly and disappeared into the shadows for a second. When she returned, she had a metal stool in one hand and two red apples in the other. “Of course,” She bit into one of the apples, strategically placing the stool at an angle that made it nearly impossible for Shaw to look directly at her. “I just didn’t expect you to be one for manners, darlin’.”

Oops. Root tried her best to hide all traces of her former southern twang, but it tended to shadow her usual accent whenever she was got anxious. And now, well, it was probably for the best that it’d waited this long to show up. Root prayed to a God she barely believed in that the lighting was too dim for Shaw to see her cheeks heating up. 

She held out the other apple to the superhero. “Want one?” She grinned.

She could see it in Shaw’s eyes. Gorgeous as they were, they betrayed her more than any human being could ever hope to. She was practically starved. Sure, her lips were moving and they were telling Root something along the lines of _No, I don’t,_ (maybe with a couple expletives thrown in) but it was to no avail. The grin never left Root’s face. In fact, it might have even grown wider.

“C’mon,” It was a coy sort of word, coming from her. It was as if she was _pleading_ with the superhero- except both parties knew she wasn’t. She forgot all about her previous mishap as the space between the two of them decreased at an alarming rate. “I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”

Shaw’s eyebrows furrowed. Root could plainly see she was making a fast decision- one she might come to regret. It was a look she’d seen on many faces, but she quickly decided she liked it best on Shaw’s. 

“Okay.” She said. 

And suddenly Root couldn’t read her expression. She seemed detached, as usual, but for a moment the renowned hacker could have sworn there was also a hint of intrigue. (Although intrigue and distaste did look awfully similar.) And then any possible trace of emotion was wiped clean. Was this some kind of trick? She was instantaneously aware of things she hadn’t bothered to notice before. The whirring of the vintage fan above them. The half-open door behind her, so old and rusted that it was begging to be torn off its hinges. She was aware of how many seconds there were between blinks. _One, two, three, four,_ blink. _One, two, three, four, five,_ blink.

And she was very, very aware that Shaw was staring at her with the blankest expression she’d ever seen. It was disorienting. Like looking into the lifeless eyes of a porcelain doll. 

Just like that, regret began yet again to creep up on her. If there was anyone in the world who could outsmart her in a game like this, it would be Sameen Shaw and her ridiculously nice legs. There was no doubt in Root’s mind that the superhero was toying with her. Testing the waters. She wanted to know whether or not she was in any actual danger, and that was something Root could respect. 

It was stupid, really. This whole thing was so, so, stupid. There weren’t many ways to ask your sworn enemy out for coffee, but somehow she could just tell she was doing it wrong. 

Root tore her eyes away from Shaw’s emotionless gaze to procure a small notepad from her pocket. She then fished a pen out of one of the many pockets in her leather jacket, pretending not to notice how the superhero’s expression was laced with confusion. She uncapped it and began a swirling string of numbers that was around seven digits long. Root hid her grin behind a veil of wavy chocolate brown hair.

“What are you doing?” Shaw asked her, after a moment of hesitation. She seemed unbothered by her previous attempts to seem cold and distant.

“Just making sure we stay in touch, honey.”

Shaw scoffed. “As if I’d ever wa-”

Root tore the slip of paper out of her notepad and handed it to her. Or rather, she sliced through the ropes on one arm and placed the slip in her hand. Maybe she was impressed by Sameen’s inability to flinch, maybe she wasn’t. Either way she was absolutely moved that she hadn’t tried to strangle Root yet. They were really getting somewhere.

“Is this…” Shaw asked in disbelief, “…your phone number?”

Root dared to place her own pale hand atop the superhero’s free one. “It sure is. Call me whenever you’re in need of a good time.” She winked.

Shaw seemed less than impressed. Maybe because Root couldn’t wink for shit. It was, to be fair, more of a blink where she opened one eye faster than the other. That was okay, though. She had other methods of impressing her favorite superhero. 

“And you expect me to believe you tied me to a chair in the middle of Fuck Nowhere, USA, just to give me _your phone number?”_

Root shrugged, a sly grin plastered onto her face. “What, are you disappointed?”

_A little,_ was the reply she’d been expecting. What she wasn’t expecting was for Shaw to suddenly be at a loss for words. The petite woman opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it. 

Her eventual response was, “If you really think you’re _that_ interesting, maybe you should prove it.”

If it was possible, Root’s catlike grin grew even wider. “Call me in five minutes. If I haven’t proved myself to you by then, feel free to forget this ever happened.” 

With that, she placed the second apple in Shaw’s lap- fully aware that she hadn’t the slightest capability of reaching it- and breezily left the room.

Five minutes came and went. By that time, Root was a good distance away from the disgraceful motel. The wind protested stubbornly as she struggled to walk against it. She pulled her jacket closer to her and wished (for the third time) that she’d chosen something more practical to wear than a pencil skirt. Especially in thirty-degree weather. But suddenly the cold didn’t matter anymore, because her phone was ringing. _Her phone._ Not the burner. And that could only mean one thing. 

Had she waited a second longer to put the phone to her ear, she might’ve missed the superhero’s message. _“You expected me to take out five armed men with only one free hand?”_ Shaw asked with mock surprise. She was breathing heavily and Root had to remind herself not to bite her lip in public. 

"Well,” Root smiled. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

She could hear Sameen’s laugh through the call. It was light, rhythmic. She liked it. 

“Your laugh is nice.” She said, before she could stop herself.

The other line went silent. No laughing, no breathing… Had she hung up? Root pulled the phone away from her ear. No, the call was still ongoing.   
_“Thank you.”_

Her tone was one of bemused interest. It was more emotion than Shaw had shown in, well, ever. And Root had to decipher it through a phone call. How cruel. 

For a minute neither of them knew what to say. The line was silent on both ends of the call, but then the superhero spoke up again.

_“Do you think you could… untie me? I asked one of the guys, but he passed out from blood loss.”_ Was she nervous? It sure sounded that way.

Root smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be clear, I haven't written these two in _forever._ Sorry if they're slightly OOC! (kudos/comments greatly appreciated)


End file.
